


Where Time Got It Wrong

by PavarottisRevenge



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adventure, Angst, F/M, Humor, Romance, Time Travel, things that go bump in the night - Freeform, you know — the basics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 09:09:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11666040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PavarottisRevenge/pseuds/PavarottisRevenge
Summary: Trapped inside for what seemed like ages, no new case prospects to be seen, Dean Winchester begs and pleads for something, anything, that will get him back into action.Poking around in rooms untouched, Dean might have just found the answer to his delemila — a humming piece etched in dust, a hooded figure lost and twisted by the hand of time, and an evil Hellbent on personal gain.Be careful of what you wish for, Dean Winchester. Sometimes you might just get it.





	Where Time Got It Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya! This will be a multiple chapter story, with sorta a crossover twist.
> 
> As always: Read, enjoy, and please review. Thank you! <3

One muggy Thursday afternoon finds our two favorite hunters sharing a small table in the far back of the Bunker’s study. Hard leather bound books and loose paper all scattered about — a few lamps lit and pencil ends chewed — you know, the usual.

One of the brothers, Sam, sits carelessly clicking away as the clock on the far right wall ticks by and by. An ease to his features show a sense of calm as he enjoys the lack of blood stains on his shirt and the full night sleep he has miraculously been gifted.

But the other brother? Well...let's just say the shorter of the two isn't known for his skills at sitting still for long periods of times. Or, well, periods of time at all.

Enough beer to drown a small village and way too many skin mags later, Dean has just about lost it. Cabin fever is an understatement at this point. If he was on a pirate ship he'd probably have scurvy by now.

 _How fun_.

It's been two weeks since their last case and Dean’s skin is practically crawling across the floor, begging for a chance at a little shooty-shoot and some stabby-stabby.

_Plus, a man can only yank the tank so many times in a short period before shit starts to chafe. You know what I mean? Truck stop lotion is never the answer, kids. Never. Go big or leave it alone._

“Sam, please. Please tell me you've found something, anything. I'm not picky.” Dean pleads with his head raised to the heavens while his thick hands slide down that stubble graced face in pure frustration. His chair squeaking a bit as he leans back until the front legs hover, “I'll even take creepy demon children, and you _know_ how much I hate those satanic crib midgets!”

Looking up from the stolen mac he picked up last month, Sam sighs with equal frustration. “I'm trying, Dean, but nothing's biting. It's like all the nasties took a group vacation or something. I've searched everything - twice.”

Dropping his chair back to the floor with a stomp of it’s sturdy legs, Dean huffs as he face plants onto the top of the wooden table in front of him.

“Sammmmm,” he whines into the grain, “Sam, Sammy, I'm dying here.”

Rolling his eyes, use to his brothers over dramatics by now, Sam goes back to clicking. “And you think I'm not bored shitless? Dude, chill. It's not that bad. Enjoy the free time; never lasts long.”

Lifting his head up to glare at his maybelline wannabe of a brother, Dean slaps his open palms onto the smooth tabletop as he fusses like a sleepy toddler. “I'll enjoy peace when I'm dead!”

Snorting at that comment, Sam glances over the computer screen at his brother and smirks. “Yeah? How'd that work out for ya? Been there, done that — remember? And guess what? Still no peace.”

“Dammit, Sam! I'm bored!”

Giving up and closing the laptop shut, Sam clasps his hands together and rests them on top of the slightly warmed device. Plastering a forced smile across his face while attempting to keep his temper at bay, the younger man tries his best to be easy. “Dude, I love you, but I am three whines away from strangling you.”

Leaning back in his own chair, Dean places a hand over his heart and gasps in an over the top mock of betrayal. “Excuse you? I am a delight!”

Before he can stand up and go choke his brother purple and blue, Dean beats Sam to the punch and goes to stand and gather up the empty beer bottles in a quick swoop. “Fine. Fine. I'll go, Mrs. Sour Puss…”

Relaxing his shoulders a tad, Sam goes back to his previous task and opens the laptop. “Please and thank you.”

Halfway into the entryway for the hall, Dean mumbles under his breath, not meaning for the other to actually hear him. “Jolly Green Dickhead...”

“I HEARD THAT!”

“Oops.”

 

\-------------------------

  
Making a quick stop at the restroom after tossing the beers into the kitchen trash, Dean looks into the vanity mirror and huffs with defeat. “You're losing it, old man.”

Turning his head black and forth, eyeing his own reflexion with every angle, Dean washes his hands and makes his way to a side room at the end of the hall.

Both men had been meaning to check these old rooms out, but had found themselves with little to no time to do so. Welp. Guess today is their lucky day, cause Dean had nothing but time as of late.

Reaching down to twist the silver knob, he grunts when it refuses to budge. “What the fuck?”

Not in the mood for anymore aggravation or disappointments today, Dean shoulder checks the door open with a brutal pressure and some creeks of the henges — the brunt of the hit forcing the door to swing open wide and whack the wall beside it.

Tencing up with a hiss, Dean looks down the hall to see if Sam just heard that slam. Pouting with hope that the other didn't because his brother had a nasty habit of getting pissy when Dean did that shit.

Relaxing when the coast remained clear, Dean looks back towards the room. Walking through the entryway he starts to cough like a chain smoker; the lazy light shining in from the hallway Illuminates the dust and god only knows what else that's scattered across boxes upon boxes. “I swear to god, Sam. if I get taken out by asbestos I am so haunting your ass…”

Reaching over to his left and gliding his hand across the rough wall of plaster, he tries his best to find the light switch without snagging a spider or worse.

“Where the hell is it?” Dean questions to himself, walking further into the room and turning to look at the wall, “and of course there's no switch. How fucking great.”

Turning himself back around and squinting his eyes some to adjust to the darkness surrounding him, Dean spots an old standing lamp near what looks like a recliner.

“Ayyyyy!” Carefully, trying his best to not trip on anything, Dean makes his way across the narrow room.

After almost nearly busting his ass on a stack of thick textbooks, he manages to make it to the seating area and plops right down on the cushion — causing a puff of red to fly up and make him sneeze. “Yeah, cause that’s healthy.”

Fumbling his arm out towards the lamp, he feels the small metal cord and gives it a soft tug. In a matter of seconds the room gets filled with a yellow fog, the years of dust and age causing a skim around the accent bulb that dims the glow.

Blinking his eyes a few times to once again adapt, Dean finally gets a chance to eye his surroundings. What he sees makes him stand up with wonder.

Tacked to the walls are what seem to be maps, maps of various regions and plans. Some large and some very, very small, and one... _humming?_

Curiosity getting the better of him, Dean hoists himself out of the chair and follows the sound till he stands before a circular map full of various shades of red and green. The mountains and rivers looking familiar to him, but not of a place he remembers of ever being to before.

_Sherwood...why does Sherwood sound so familiar?_

Jumping back and out of his thoughts when the outer rim of the map starts to vibrate rapidly, Dean tilts his head as the the hum from earlier gets louder and louder.

 _“What in the world?”_ He asks himself while lifting a hand to trace the center, noticing an odd script stitched within the map.

Not family with the language, Dean goes to sound the wording out while he glides his index along with it. “Prisutni u prošlost, prošlost na leđa. Trepere oka Ja sam otišao u flash.”

After the last syllable leaves his lips, a loud clash booms from within the pulsing circle. The map shaking and screaming as the room begins to glow like an ignited flame. The air around Dean growing thicker and thicker as the glow becomes brighter and brighter, his breathing becoming shallow and slow the longer he stands stuck to the spot.

Eyes wide and mouth open like a gaping fish, Dean has no time to escape before he is grabbed by the map itself and pulled right into it. His fight to break free becoming useless the farther he is dragged within.

With a flash and a whine, the room sets back to how it was before that very last syllable was uttered.

A stuck room, a soft hum, the foggy glow, and just some dust — but this time? _No Dean._

 


End file.
